Eye of truth
by Isolde1
Summary: “Once I had thought him ugly as sin.” [SSHP, preslash, HBP compliant]


**Eye of truth**

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde1 at fanfiction(dot)net)  
**Author E-mail:** carcinya(at)yahoo(dot)com  
**Category:** Angst/Drama  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Summary:** "Once I had thought him ugly as sin." SS/HP, pre-slash, HBP compliant  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Rowling's. Move along.

**Author's notes: **I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Or flamers. Yummy.

I can't believe I'm writing HP fiction again. I never thought I would, honest.

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**"Eye of truth"**

_**I have perceived much beauty  
In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight;  
Heard music in the silentness of duty.**_

**-- Wilfred Owen**

Once I had thought him ugly as sin.

Pallid skin, lank black hair, a crooked nose, the nimble venomous tongue of a viper – in all honesty, the man held as little physical appeal as he was good-natured.

His only saving grace, I had thought even back then, had been his eyes. Dark and almond-shaped, they belied the aloof coldness he wore wrapped around his tall, thin frame like a cloak, burning with passion – rarely –, anger or malice.

As I looked upon Severus Snape now, five years out of Hogwarts, with eyes that had seen the ugliness of war, I knew I could not have been more wrong.

There was a certain striking beauty in the way the moonlight drew out the sharp lines of his harsh hawkish features – the same cold keen beauty a warrior might admire in a blade. His eyes had not changed, aglow with dark rage and still spitting defiance.

He stood there, unmoving and silent, black and white against the grayish grit of Knockturn alley. The fierceness of his expression drew me in, inexorably. It matched my own determination.

I knew what I had to do. Before he tried to curse me, before I killed him.

I _had_ to know.

I stared at him and he glared right back, unflinching. Our wands pointed at each other, we both shouted at the same time, with unaccountable, startling synchronism:

"_Legilimens_!"

In the years since our last lesson, my Occlumency skills had vastly improved, but in comparison to his iron-cold mastery I was still a novice. My shields faltered at his precise, powerful assaults, and soon vanished all together, leaving my mind as open as a book.

Exactly as I had expected. Immediately, I focused my thoughts on the most unlikely subject I could summon.

_Snape_.

Were we so different?

Not nearly as much as we both would have wanted. Perhaps it was inevitable – life had not been kind, to either of us.

When I looked at him, I saw myself as I could have become -- if Uncle Vernon had been a bit more like Tobias Snape, had not drawn the line at mere neglect, and instead delved into physical abuse; if I had taken Draco's pale hand instead of Ron's freckled one; if I had let the Hat put me into Slytherin...

And I knew it was his own distorted reflection Snape saw as he gazed deep into my mind.

I pushed those thoughts forefront, baring that part of my mind to Snape's gaze, intent on making the man _see_ what he would not, had never wanted to hear.

The best weapon against one so accustomed to deceit and lies, I had found, was often the plain, unvarnished truth.

There is only so much, after all, one can bear without flinching.

From deep within, I could feel the shock rippling through Snape as he reeled back and out of my mind. I did not smile as I withdrew, coming back to my body and my senses.

I had won, but victory had never before tasted this bitter.

While distracting Snape, I had plunged deep into his carefully-guarded psyche and snatched precisely what I had been looking for, the same way I had sometimes dived after the Snitch during a match, breathlessly and without fear.

The newly-acquired – _stolen_ – knowledge hit me like a Bludger, and for a long moment I thought I might be sick.

I had my answer.

Dumbledore had _ordered_ Snape to kill him. And Snape -- ruthless, pitiless, selfless -- had done it.

I had feared it might be so, and yet... and yet, to my disgust, I had wished for it too, sometimes in the dead of night when the weight of my lost illusions became too much to bear.

I had wanted to believe in him. I had thought -- naive, so naive -- that if Snape could still hold a shred of decency after all he had done, perhaps there would be hope for me too.

I lowered my wand, exhaling a shuddery breath. I knew I was shaking, and couldn't bring myself to care. Snape simply stared at me, his gaze direct and appraising and ... pleased?

I had not taught _him_ anything, I realized with a jolt, feeling like ten sorts of fool. What had surprised him, shocked him, was that I _understood_.

He had not expected I would.

In the split second I had spent in the hidden murky recesses of his mind, I had learned more than I had ever thought possible.

More than I had ever wanted to know.

It was the true wonder of childhood, that unrivaled ability of innocents to think in black-and-white. Once I had fancied myself a Knight, sworn to an old, benevolent King -- white and wise, worthy of unquestioning loyalty and love.

The mission had been clear, the enemy obvious. The Black Queen had been all-powerful and malicious, evil as only a child could conceive.

There had been no room for questions.

And then, blocking my path, a Black Bishop had slunk across the battlefield and forced me against the wall of my own limitations.

Relentlessly the Bishop had foreseen and blocked my every move, appearing where I expected him least, pushing when I yearned for peace, retreating when I advanced, intent on confronting him at last.

The Bishop was patient by nature. It had taken him years, but he had reached his goal, as he always did, progressing obliquely in ways inscrutable to all but himself.

For reasons of his own, he had wanted me to understand that life was not a game of chess. There was no such thing as Knights and Bishops and Kings -- only humans with their pitiful failings and pathetic fears.

We did not even have the excuse of being pawns in a war we fought against our wills.

If anything, we were tools, weapons in their hands, razor-sharp and dangerous and free to walk away – only neither of us ever would.

And once we had served their purposes we would be discarded -- on the chessboard of peace there was no place for shades of gray.

They would have their hero, and their villain, and all would be well in their world of cardboard cutouts.

But it did not matter. Snape had taught me that much.

The thought filled me with the sort of fierce, savage joy I had seen glinting in Lupin's eyes, right before he had crushed Bellatrix's delicate neck between his jaws.

He went his way and I went mine, not sparing a backward glance, each knowing that the next time we faced one another, it would be across a battlefield.

Only this time, we would stand together, side by side.

Dumbledore's men, through and through.

-- end -

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Feedback much welcome. 


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